


Evil Isn't Something You're Born With

by WebslingingWebhead



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man (Fandom), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon 2012)
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Astral Projection, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Competent Supervillains, Correction - Bad Undercover Disguises, Debates on Fate, Friendship, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Is it a rewrite if it was never written in the first place?, Magic, Mild Language, Miles is more important than he realizes, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Debates, No One is Entirely Right, Origin Story, Origin Story Rewrite, Second Chances, The Astral Plane, The Baby Hitler Debate, The Multiverse is Real, The Wolf Spider Hivemind says Hello, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Time Travel, Time Travel Logic is Wack, Undercover Disguises, Undercover Missions, Villains are Actually a Threat Here, What-If, Wolf Spider - Freeform, cheating death, depictions of violence, inaccurate science, no beta we die like men, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29394018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WebslingingWebhead/pseuds/WebslingingWebhead
Summary: It had been a little over a year since graduation day when Peter got the call. Wolf Spider had been captured and detained after remaining off the radar for a whole year. In Peter’s dimension. The news was a blow to his stomach, everything seemed off kilter. That person, that… that thing, had been here in his universe for over a year and he didn’t notice. What could have been a behind closed doors operation, turns into a full-scale mission involving the entire team, dubious science, and mystical artifacts. Aside from the glaring issues of time travel, Peter and the rest of the team are forced to face their issues and the distance that’s grown between them. With the involuntary addition of Miles, Peter and Miles also have to address the issues that come with the double-sided coin that is Spider-Man.
Relationships: Miles Morales & Peter Parker, Spider-Man & Kid Arachnid, Spider-Man & The Ultimates, Wolf Spider & Kid Arachnid
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Evil Isn't Something You're Born With

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mystery_Name](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystery_Name/gifts), [X_Gon_Give_It](https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Gon_Give_It/gifts).



> Wolf Spider is a character often overlooked as a "there's always an evil version" multiverse lottery ticket. His character made cameos for three episodes only to get a short amount of screen time in the fourth episode and little to no explanation as to his motivations and origin. As the "big bad" for a four episode event, and an original character for the cartoon, it's surprising that the writers didn't give much thought to his background and character. This fic is a sort of what-if in a sense. It takes place about a year after Season 4 and gives some much needed character development to not only Wolf Spider, but to Miles Morales and his relationship to Peter Parker. It's a bit of a passion project and a bit of a tribute to some characters that I personally feel didn't get the attention they deserved. 
> 
> (Also, Wolf Spider is an absolute gold mine for fic ideas, so I'm having a lot of fun with this.) 
> 
> This fic was made for Alice as a contribution to the Wolf Spider Hivemind! She's been a major motivator to write this, and it'll officially be the first work posted on this account! Alice writes a lot of great stuff, and I gifted this to her accounts, so I'd definitely recommend checking out her works! Alice, if you're seeing this, I hope this turns out okay!

_  
Earth-12041_ _  
__Roughly 02:00_ _  
__Manhattan, NYC, NY_

Spiders tend to be mostly solitary creatures, hunting and feeding and living on their own, _occasionally_ deciding to mate to better their species. That’s why a colony of spiders moving together was deemed **highly unusual**. The group funneled across the walls, through gutters and window sills, answering an involuntary call. Most of them would eventually split off, losing touch with the signal, _but the others..._

They followed the low, _singing_ , shiver that unknowingly beckoned them to an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of Chelsea.

What had once been a highly active storage unit and processing facility, became nothing more than another insignificant and dilapidated building in the city. The only soul there was a lonely figure, unseen by the rest of the world in the most _literal_ sense. A crash of lightning illuminated the room and the figure, a sheen of spider silk covering his vaguely transparent form. As he huddled in the corner, he looked over his work. It had taken him longer than originally planned, but his bed was finally complete. Fingertips lightly plucked; a hum of approval was given at the light _twang_ from the line. Tiptoes lightly tested the threads before leaping wholeheartedly onto the net of gossamer webbing. He twisted and turned, adjusting himself to the lopsided net, before finally settling towards the inner corner.

 _‘This’ll do nicely.’_ He thought contentedly.

Tonight was one of the louder ones. Rain was pattering against the corrugated metal rooftop, tapping the tarps that covered several parts of the building, and seeping into the rotting wooden planks spanning the general perimeter. Thunder rumbled, reverberating throughout the streets and inside the walls. Relentless gusts of wind whipped the side of the building, a constant, muted, chainsaw rattle against the old brick skeleton of a structure. The beams moaned and groaned lowly at the triple threat, accompanied by the constant bout of city chatter of drunken night owls. It was enough constant stimulation to keep the heaviest of sleepers awake, but he had grown accustomed to it.

It was the _cold_ that was bothering him. 

The chilled metal made sleeping on the rusted catwalks a nightmare. The cold often put him in a more _distant_ state of mind, which was only worsened by the constant _floaty_ feeling he experiences. His head would loll from side to side and his limbs grew weak and pliable. It was an uncomfortable numbness and exhaustion that made him too tired to rest, while simultaneously rousing him with random onslaughts of nausea whenever he moved too suddenly.

Thankfully, his webs were a decent enough bed substitute.

While he didn’t know much, he had discovered a few odd _behavioral ticks_ in his time here. He enjoyed high areas with plenty of vantage points, he never felt the need to eat or drink, and he had the ability to stick to surfaces and shoot a strong, stringy substance from his wrists. All of which had presented itself soon after he... **escaped**.

The first thing he had remembered was pain. Intense, brutal, searing pain. For a while that was all he knew. He could feel himself being torn apart, barely hanging onto an abstract idea of what he once was before that too was taken from him. He longed for an end, a stop to this constant ripping sensation. The most he could do was attach himself to another warm, pulsating being, siphoning all the energy that he could, like a parasite. Things moved slowly for a while, energy coming in erratic intervals as the host created and destroyed and manipulated. He remembers a strange sound, before a group of voices began talking. The interaction progressed and he struggled to hold on as the host moved about. Then something changed and he was released… 

He hadn’t known that there was something to be released _from_.

Legs quivering, he stumbled away from unseeing forces as they argued and fought, eventually crawling into the first empty structure he laid eyes on _._ He had left that plane of existence _incomplete_ , something always missing that banged dissonantly against his core. 

It was **maddening**. 

So, he spent a majority of his new life resting and hibernating in abandoned buildings and vacant alleyways. Occasionally, he’d wake up feeling like he had regained a lost part of himself, remembering certain sensations.

_A warmth on his forehead._

_Limbs wrapped around his waist._

_A comforting swipe across the back of his hand._

_A revitalizing ache in his shoulders._

_A stinging in his eyes._

_Something wet, trailing down his cheek._

A part of him had the common sense to know that having no memory of his past wasn’t _exactly_ the best situation. The part of him that longed for answers, stayed up through the night, listening for something, anything to _call out_ to him. The other part had decided that a blissfully ignorant existence might be the safest route. That part was afraid of going outside, afraid of being seen, afraid of the unknown. It was his most **vulnerable** part, and given the fact that it required expressed yet direct energy to _touch_ things, it was the one he listened to more often than not.

Living this way was debilitating to his psyche. He’d once destroyed an entire building because he had been _so_ _sure_ that **someone** was after him. It turned out to be nothing more than a fluke on his part. But it drew attention to himself, loud sirens wailing as others made their way to his location. Realistically speaking, he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. Couldn’t keep waiting for the answers he needs to be handed to him. But he had grown tired and weak, and even going _outside_ seemed like a treacherous undertaking. Sleeping for long periods of time had become a way of coping. He didn’t dream, didn’t think, and wasn’t in danger of revealing himself.

Some small, delicate spiders had climbed onto his bed of webbing by now. Weaving, tinier, intricate patterns between his own frantic sections. One such spider had climbed into his palm, seemingly _staring_ at him, as if it had something to say.

 _‘If only, then I wouldn’t feel so... empty.’_ He thought bitterly. 

_‘Wait, what?’_

Catching himself, he slapped a hand on top of his face, a grimace appeared as he realized how low he'd gotten. At this rate he might actually start believing that the spiders were speaking to him, and while he didn’t know much, he knew _that_ wasn’t a good thing. Moving the spider off his hand, he placed it aside onto one of the thicker web lines. He shifted, laying more into his left side as he watched the spider continue to gaze up at him. It was off putting to say the least, and when he felt tiny legs tap **insistently** along his cheek, he startled easily. 

“What the _hell_?!” He hissed, nearly falling off the net of webbing.

He managed to cup the spider in his hands before it could fall off the web, and he struggled to meet its thousand-yard stare, fearing what he might see. 

He saw nothing.

Just a spider with an _odd_ attention span, and a now slightly crumpled leg. He winced at that when he tried to set it down, but the spider instead crawled further up his arm. That same **insistent** tapping continued in the small of his elbow, then at the peak of his bicep, and suddenly the dip between his shoulder and collarbone.

“Don’t crawl so fast, little guy!” He playfully chided, picking up the little creature and placing it back in his palm. While he couldn’t know for sure, it seemed like the spider was almost _glaring_ at him. He let out a harsh breath at that observation. Thinking that he was close to losing his mind, or what little he had of one, he hurriedly set the arachnid down and scuttled further into the corner.

“Just… stay. Stay there.” He ordered, hand raised out placatingly, he didn’t know if the verbal command was more for the spider or to rationalize things for himself. But before he could settle in again, there was a crisp and distinct whistling. At first, he thought his ears were ringing, but when the sound wavered and the spiders began to chirp angrily at it, he began to think otherwise. The sound seemed to be coming from all directions, echoing off the barren walls of the warehouse, but soon he caught a glimpse of the oddly attentive spider skittering across the warehouse. His eyes travelled as he watched the spider move to an old window, from which the sound seemed to be at its strongest. He scuttled across the chilled ceiling, following the spider, wincing as a few chips in the metal dug into his bare feet. Now directly over the window, he could feel the unrelenting breeze and mist from the evening rain touch his face. Past the rain and thundering and honks of city cars, however, he could clearly hear the whistling. 

**_“Whinnnggggg…”_ **

Clear and unwavering.

 _‘It’s coming from outside…’_ The thought sent shivers down his spine. The past few... _months?_ had been going great... **perfect** , even. No interruptions, just calming sleep and dreamless rest. Having half the mind to go back to bed and try to forget the noise, he shifted his weight, but there was something undeniably _sirenic_ to this noise. Like it was **calling** him, beckoning him to follow it, and his chest tugged familiarly at the request. That, and the dreadful emptiness had become much more apparent when his mind drifted to cowardly thoughts about huddling in his web and forgetting the whole thing.

_‘If only it were that easy…’_

His eyes soon fell back down to his leg, where the spider had inched its way onto his thigh, completely unnoticed. It continued to hold that piercing stare, seemingly egging him on to follow the sound. He couldn’t find it in himself to not comply, this could lead to the answers he’s been wanting all this time. The fear of what he might find when he reaches the sound’s source dissipates at the thought of finally knowing… knowing something, _anything_. 

With a manic determination that threatens to consume him, he stumbles out the window, feet sticking to the wall. The breeze is chilly and smelled of sea salt, whipping across his face in a way that leaves him feeling vulnerable, like his face shouldn’t be so… **exposed**. He ignores it, choosing instead to pointedly look at the gap between his nest and the adjacent building. It’s not the distance that forces bile up into his throat, nor is it the height that makes his hand tremble along the harsh wall. Past this building is a long stretch of untraveled territory. Some undisclosed secret that promised _salvation_.

A secret that would give him **strength**.  
  
 **_“Whinnnggggg…”_ **

That’s all he needs.

 _'Just jump, push off, move…_ **_move_** _!'_

Hesitation abandoned, he launches out, an arrow in the void. Pieces of the concrete wall still linger on his heels, not registering to his frantically buzzing mind. His legs bend when he lands. The gravelly rooftop pavement pokes and digs into his calloused soles as he struggles to stick the landing. There’s a low hiss at the pain and he grits his teeth in surprise, but in comparison to the exhilarating realization that he's outside, free, and _alive_ … It's not even a blip on his radar.

Possessed, he takes off in a dead sprint. His breathing is a weird mix of quiet pants and half-laughs, a soft bubbly feeling in his stomach as he keeps putting more pressure until he finally connects with the opposite ledge. 

The second jump comes much easier than the first, but it’s a little too far for him to make on his own, and he shoots out a web in reflex. But he’s unprepared for the slight drop combined with his weight, yelping as the gland in his left wrist is harshly tugged before he grabs directly onto the web line to soothe his arm. The climb back up is _excruciating_ , attention focused on trying to swing his legs to connect to the wall once again, all while trying to keep his grip on the line of webbing to prevent further injury. With a grunt, he manages to pull himself over onto the rooftop, lying flat on his back and quickly bringing his arm to his chest. A pathetic sound starts in his throat, but the tears fall silently as he assesses the damage. The small gland is made obvious due to the angry red shade it’s taken. It pulsates with a burning ache, swelling up and _begging_ for relief. Slowly, he turns his head to eye the opposite edge. The gap is larger, there’s no way he could make it over by jumping. Taking a chance, he glances back down to his arm, regretting it as he sees the faintest hints of blood bubble to the surface. It hurts, he didn’t think he could hurt so much. 

Not _again._

_‘I want to go home… I miss—’_

**_“Whinnnggggg…”_ **

The thought leaves his mind quickly, the center of his chest suddenly aching with longing and _desire._ He needs to know. He **has** to. This can’t be for nothing.

“Need… want…” he croaks out, voice barely rasping out the words as he moves to stand. 

**_“Whinnnggggg!”_ **

The pain in his arm is no longer in his mind. His brain solely focused on locating the source of the sound. Feet touch gravel, legs move forward, supporting weight, _sprinting_. The ledge is cool against his soles. Hair falls in front of his eyes. There’s no thinking, no planning involved as he aims his wrist once again towards the opposite building. There’s no scream as he uses the web to hold his weight, and there’s no cry of relief when he lets go on the peak of his arc. 

**_“Whinnnggggg...”_ **

He swings mechanically through the alleyways, not thinking about the odd stares that track his flickering form. The smell of sea salt fades as he moves deeper into the changing cityscape. It’s brighter here, _louder_ here, more people and more cars and more… **everything**. A couple of young men belt out in song in their drunken stupor, a lady yells at a few jaywalkers that cross in front of her car, there’s an old man watching soaps in his living room. The screams and cheers echo throughout the streets, drowning out anything and everything. A forceful cacophony of apathy that sounds too joyous. A dissonance that plays along the edges of his temples. It’s too much, and for a moment, he loses the sound.

The rooftop comes far too fast for his liking. He’s rolling and skidding across the flat top, only coming to a full stop when he collides with the side of an HVAC unit. Dazed and on the edge of panicking, he pushes himself up, using the chilled metal as support. His arms fall listlessly to his sides, trickling blood to his fingertips. Shivers rack his body as the cold seeps through the webbing, chilling his skin, goosebumps forming rapidly. Groaning, his glazed eyes scan over the scenery, picking up a white stone arch and a large open park. Tentatively, he raises up one of his hands, fixated on the way the city lights pass through his transparent fingertips. This place, it's vaguely familiar. A landmark in the jumbled mass of unreachable memories.

“Greenwich.” He says without processing it. The shock comes gradually. What did it mean? The word was foreign to him, but why did it bring a sense of ease? Why did it make _sense_? The corners of his mouth twitch, unsure of forcing his lips into a smile or a frown of confusion. It chooses the former, and he looks down at the park nearby him. A breathless laugh escapes him at the sight. It looks so green and full of life despite the lack of passersby and light fixtures. The grass looks soft and plush. He wants to stay in this moment forever, he wants to hop down, he wants to place his feet along it, _roll_ around in it, **breathe** it in…  
  
 _‘I want to touch—’_

**_“Whinnnggggg!”_ **

Startled, he swayed when moving to stand, almost losing his balance and toppling over the ledge. The sound was much louder, much _clearer_ , much more… **insistent** . His chest was aching something awful, and his throat was tightening, closing up, like breathing the still air was hurting him. Moving just a _slight_ bit closer to the noise seemed to lessen the strain, so he followed, a marionette puppet strung along New York’s rooftop stage. His wrist moves on its own accord, shooting a line of webbing. His smile fades. 

The grass could wait. 

Swinging off the building, he feels a chill envelop his body, background sounds growing muffled until disappearing entirely. This new place is a labyrinth of alleyways and buildings, a maze of streets and unnervingly empty intersections. It's different from the rest of the city in a way that seems _unnatural_ , like an isolated bubble within the greater cityscape. His mind is too focused on the sound to realize it, but whatever familiarity this area once held has diminished. A ghost town taking its place. He stopped in front of a cornerstone deli, lights on and radio playing faintly despite the obvious lack of people. Slowly moving past the store, the same is apparent with the rest of the businesses. Lights on, idle music, _no people_. He's about to pass an odd-looking brick building when the sound jolts again. 

**_“Whinnnggggg!”_ **

Whipping around, he faces the dark wooden doors of the building. Paired with the odd skylight and polished metal fixtures, the building looks out of place and fantastical. The white stone stairs graze his bare feet with a distinct lack of chill, comforting him slightly. He can hear the whistle coming through the doors, slightly impeded by the wood.

 _'Here.'_ Is the only thought to cross through his blank mind.

He moves a hand to rap his knuckles against the hardwood, pointedly ignoring the cold numbness in his fingers, before an unseen force grabs his wrist. He shouts, surprised by the tight grip. Fruitlessly trying to wiggle out of the hold, he's unceremoniously yanked through the threshold, a piece of webbing stubbornly swaying off the door handle.

The dark wooden flooring collides with his face with a resounding _bang_ that echoes throughout the... foyer? He almost feels a pang of guilt when he realizes the water dripping off his soaking body is collecting onto the hardwood, but the pain on his cheek prevents him from doing so. The impact caused an angry sting, and he recognized the feeling of bruises forming on his skin. Stumbling, he manages to support his weight on a nearby end table, standing up before quickly shifting his arms to his chest and falling down again. It hits him all at once, from his muscles aching from overexertion, to the angry burn of his spinnerets, to the cuts and scrapes along his body. His lungs become inflamed, _pushing_ against his ribs, and squeezing on his rapidly beating heart. There's an added dryness to his throat when he tries to scream, and his stomach begins _twisting_ itself as the acids digest the glaringly obvious **nothingness** in his belly.

 _'Hungry… thirsty.'_ He figures.

A newfound danger he hadn't worried about before. It's with this _overwhelming_ sensation, where he moves to soothe the source, that he realizes **one** key factor.

"My… my hands."

Palms raised up, the light flickers _around_ them rather than _through_ , **opaque** , showing the fair and slightly discolored skin prominently. Turning, he catches his first glimpse of his own shadow, a look of wonder encapsulating his features. Strained laughter and embarrassing giggles escape his lips, arms moving to hug his very real body, before his limbs stiffened from the pulsating ache. 

**_“Whinnnggggg...”_ **

Glazing over, his eyes turn their gaze on the wooden staircase across from him. At the top, he could catch a glimpse of glass display cases and intricately carved tables, grazing the tapering top of the structure. The bottom, however, expanded slightly outwards, appearing like a funnel in the center of the foyer. The foyer, he sees, is very large with high ceilings and a complex chandelier. His eyebrows scrunched up curiously at the sight, observing the delicate pieces as they hung this way and that. Light dripping from each hanging teardrop-shaped glass bauble, casting the space in a faint, _warm_ , **flickering** glow. A faint shimmer drew his attention elsewhere, and he stood up to get a better look, the flecks of silver woven through thick fabric captivating him. The walls were covered in various tapestries, each of a rich, dark color. The designs were hard to catch, considering they were woven in similar colors to that of the base fabric, but the light illuminated the hidden patterns, revealing sigils and writing scrawled across them. They were at least a good half inch thick, stiff in their placement, unmoving, and muffling the noises that threatened to echo endlessly within the area.

Like remnants of his cut off laughter. 

Posture now stable, right arm clutching his heavily damaged spinneret, he slowly moved from his spot. He couldn’t imagine anyone living here, the place appearing too formal and professional. Aside from the tapestries and chandelier, there wasn’t much decoration to fill the room. A handful of displays, similar to the ones up the stairs, contained various golden trinkets, a certain chime radiating from each artifact, in varying tones and volumes. But the whistle, that _clear_ and **hollow** sound that reverberates deep into his bones... His legs move forward on their own accord, right arm finally letting go and outstretched towards the wooden railing. It was only a few steps away, up the stairs, just out of sight. A few steps to finally obtain what he’s been searching for all this time. To be _whole_ , to be **strong** , to be… 

“ ** _More…_ **”

“You do **not** belong here.”

The staircase fades from view as the room is plunged into darkness. Green, glowing, smoke slowly moves across the floor, and cold water rises upwards from the floorboards, reaching his ankles. The sudden change shocks him, and he stumbles back, eyes barely adjusting to the darkness.

“ _Huh?_ Who said that?!” He calls out, eyes darting around, blind to his surroundings. He shifts, arms raised in front of him, waving around to find some sort of surface to grasp onto. Eyes finally dark-adapted, he can clearly see the smoke wafting around him, the green color reflecting against the water covering the floor. Wading through the water, shivers rack his body as the temperature drops, his breath now visible whenever he exhales. Wrapping his arms around himself prove fruitless, and his mood only worsens when he begins to feel a pair of eyes _watching_ him.

It doesn’t take long for the voice to reappear. 

“Roughly a year has passed since my journey to the quantum realm. I had a feeling that Mordo was not the only enemy who had escaped that night.” The voice is obviously male, aged with years of experience, and paired with an unfamiliar air of elegance as its words bite bitterly into the void. He perked up at the mention of a name he didn’t recognize. He never knew of anyone named Mordo, or at least, he didn’t anymore. He wasn’t quite sure what he used to know. But with the way this voice was addressing him, ignorance had never felt more terrifying.

“But now… after all this time. I managed to track down a vital piece of this puzzle... A _fragment_ of your **physical** form.” A gust of wind blew through the area, swirling the smoke as it rose higher, practically engulfing him. The glow was too bright, piercing his eyes even through tightly shut eyelids. The voice barreled on. “And much like a parasitic mosquito to the sight of newly exposed skin, you followed...”

“... _shamelessly_.” The clear resentment in the voice’s tone caused an uneasy feeling in his gut, his mind blared with warnings and pleads to run, to get as far away from here as possible. He tried to heed his instincts, running back into the direction he assumed was back towards the doors, only to see that the dark expanse was endless. The smoke covered floor showed no signs of stopping, and any hints of a possible exit had vanished along with the staircase. There was no escape, no way out, just a vast nothingness that he didn’t understand, an unknown concept he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to understand.

“Who... who are you?” He asked, voice rasping and breaking due to his involuntary shivers, made annoyingly clear by the droplets that fell from his nose onto his tightly wrapped arms.

“Someone who observes and protects the balance of our realities.” the voice answered cryptically. It was said in such a condescending matter-of-factness that he found himself feeling inadequate and incapable, despite the odds of him figuring this out on his own. It made him bitter, and he grit his teeth, glaring up at god knows what.

“What’s that supposed to mean—” His body instantly seized up, arms twitching at his sides as his vision flickered from the grueling pain that stemmed from his temples. He couldn’t bring himself to grasp at his head, already collapsing and shaking violently from sparks of pain ricocheting in his skull. He gasped, trying to suck in as much air as he could. His throat struggled to form any kind of sound, he didn’t even have enough air to scream.

“What’s—” A shudder, this time threatening to shut his mouth, shot down from the base of skull to the base of his spine. He keened, throwing his head back, body writhing at the searing, blinding agony that began to consume him. Another shock, this time causing his body to curl in on itself, a gnawing ache in his core. Voices protruded from every direction, voices both male and female of varying ages, he even caught glimpses of random images he couldn't understand. 

_A shock of long red hair_

_A black sweater, contrasted by a stark white collar_

_Blond bangs hiding a pair of deep blue eyes_

_A golden necklace, ring dangling from its delicate chain_

_Black surrounding a bright red spider_

_A pair of large white eyes, surrounded by red fabric and black webbing_

“What’s happening to me?!” His breathing quickened, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop, ribs protested against the movement, but his lungs begged for more air. Vague choking sounds emanated from his practically tearing esophagus. Fingertips feel numb, body cold, head fuzzy, throat ripping itself to pieces just to get some air into him. He needs to breathe, but his body won't let him. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he _can’t_ — 

“Your memories are coming back, aren’t they?” The poorly hidden amusement did nothing to dissuade his fears on the voice’s opinion on him. Something wasn’t right here. It left a deep pit in his already aching stomach, telling him that he needs to leave. His thoughts were caught in a cycle of run, leave, breathe, hide, run, _breathe_. “Being in such close proximity to the fragment, it must be allowing them to carve their way back into the deepest recesses of your mind.” Fragment this, fragment that. He didn’t know what the voice was talking about, but it was made clear that whatever this fragment was, held the key to his past, to the why of his situation. He needed it. This person can’t have it. He wouldn’t allow it. It’s _his_. 

“The process will be extremely painful, but necessary.” The smirk was obvious in its words, but he could barely process the anger bubbling up inside him as something roared and rushed through his ears. Voices, so many voices, chattering, whispering, screaming. His body was wracked by an onslaught of sobs and stinging tears. He mumbled incoherent pleas, cries for mercy, before coughing violently and choking on his sobs. His vision blurred and he heard his wails being echoed throughout the space, taunting him. One last wretched shock assaults his skull, followed by a harsh intake of breath before the green smoke dissipates. In its place lies a lone strip of pavement, cracked and covered by rubble, scorch marks trailing all the way to— 

_“My mom’s gonna kill me...”_

The voice is masculine, and young, words trembling and barely audible. The sound is followed by a series of wet coughs, whimpers following afterwards, before devolving into high-pitched cries. Eyes puffy and swollen, he moves to rub away the stray tears collecting around them, grunting as he shuffles his body to get a better look at the new stranger.

“Who’s—”

There, not even a few feet from him, lies a young boy, blood pooling around him as he curls up on his side. He’s wearing a puffy winter coat, scarf tangled in his limbs, a singular glove on his right hand, hat long forgotten a few meters away. His face is a pinched expression, eyebrows furrowed and trembling with tears welling up in his wide, shocked eyes. A noticeable tremor overtook him, and he cried out at the involuntary movement, arms flinching outwards. Revealing a deep gash in his side, his winter jacket stained red and charred around the edges that exposed the boy’s mutilated flesh. Something inside him push him to ignore the piercing pain that came from moving his limbs in favor of settling next to the boy, collecting the boy into his lap, cradling his arm in his arms.

“Oh my god, oh my god! You’re gonna be okay. Just look at me, look at me! Okay?!” He pleaded, unsure how he managed to stammer out a coherent request when he couldn’t even clench his shaking fingers into a fist. He watched as the boy’s eyes widened, gazing up at him with a fleeting sense of recognition. The kid’s features softened, as if relieved, and he raised a hand to gingerly squeeze one of the arms holding his head. Seemingly satisfied with his current situation, he looked around the black space, smoke faintly glowing and flowing a good distance away. The boy seemed confused, and made a questioning hum, his brows scrunching up before gazing back up.

 _“Did we... did we get him?”_ he asked, voice cracking and barely above a whisper.

“What?” At his response, the boy’s eyes widened, distraught, a lone tear seeping from his eye, before the light inside them dimmed. Panicked, he shook the boy’s body, which only resulted in the hand grasping his arm to fall beside the lifeless body. Frantic pleadings of “no”, “wake up”, “you’re going to be okay”, and “come back” were shouted out into the expanse. But his words meant nothing, repeating in the inescapable echo chamber and the body in his lap dissipated like the forgotten mist of a terrible thunderstorm. It was pointless, he knew that, but his hands still tried to grasp onto the remnants of the boy that was once there, something in him not willing to let go.

“Who was that? Who is that kid?” he called out, waiting for the voice to respond. Instead he was met with nothing. No taunting or sadistic voice to criticize or insult him, no smug feeling of superiority to listen to, no harsh chuckles to occupy the tangible silence in the black emptiness of this space. He grew frustrated, a short intake of breath being the only warning of his loud and demanding “Answer me!”.

“You can’t run from your past. The things you’ve seen, things you’ve done, they will always follow you.” It finally added, breaking the silence. He didn’t know what to think of that. He had no memory of his past, no recollection of a before, an ignorance so profound that he often believed that may not have been a “ _before”_ . Was this a form of retribution? A punishment for events he can’t recall? The thought of past actions, things that his previous self had done, that he had no memory of or semblance of recognition for, coming back to punish him was a sort of fear that made his skin crawl and put a weight on his chest. As if knowing where his train of thought was headed, the voice spoke again. “No matter how large or small, every action must also come with a _price_... a **consequence**.”

The smoke began accumulating into thicker, larger clouds that slowly moved back towards his location, startling him. There was a growing rumbling sensation, rippling the water that lapped at his legs, which continually increased its intensity. Sounds of crackling reverberating throughout the area, just barely covering the muffled sounds of shouts and cries before the voices smothered and cancelled out any other noise that occurred in the space, even his own terrified scream. He only managed to shuffle a few feet away from the clouds of smoke engulfed him once again, their bright glow stinging his eyes and forcing him to cover his eyelids with his trembling hands. The voices were demanding to be heard, and this time, they wouldn’t be merciful.

 _“No. No,_ **_please_** _! Mi hijo! No, no, noooo..._ **_No_** _!”_ a feminine voice shrieked, despair laced deeply into every cry. 

Then a masculine voice spoke, somewhat young, but frantic and cracking as it spoke. _“God,_ **_oh god_** _... I’m sorry, I’m_ **_so_ ** _sorry. She’s_ **_gone_** _. She passed just this morning.”_

Another male voice, stern and cold, aged by years of rough experiences. _“You’re_ **_dangerous_ ** _and out of control. Don’t force my hand,_ **_agent_** _.”_

Lastly, another voice, this time feminine, furious, frustrated, and betrayed. _“How could you just leave her! Do you know how much it hurt me, hurt_ **_her_ ** _when I told her that her_ **_only_ ** _family couldn’t be bothered to see her! You’re_ **_insane_ ** _if you think you can show your face here!”_

_“_ **_Freak_ ** _!”_

_“_ **_Murderer_ ** _!”_

_“_ **_Monster_ ** _!”_

_“You left_ **_her_** _!”_

 _“You didn’t save_ **_him_** _!”_

 _“Some_ **_hero_ ** _you are...”_

The voices continued to speak, talking over one another but with no intention of silencing themselves. It’s too loud, too much, he can’t focus. His ears ring and struggle to tune out the extra input, eardrums feeling like they’re about to burst. He can feel himself screaming, but can’t hear the sound over the endless chatter with a volume so loud it places a physical weight on his shoulders. He exchanges the protection for his eyes, to clasp his hands around his ears to muffle the voices. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help and he comes to the chilling realization that these voices aren’t coming from the environment, but rather, inside his head.

“Make it stop. Please, _please_ make it stop.” he begs, sacrificing his pride in search of relief.

The voice scoffs, as if offended by the idea of helping him. There’s a distinct _tsk_ , _tsk_ , _tsk_ sound that grates against his sensitive ears before the voice finally responds. “I have no control over this, and such matters are irrelevant to what actions I need to take concerning your... _situation_.” That’s what finally gets him to break. There’s no relief coming, no help, no escape from this place. His fate has already been decided from the moment he heard the whistle, that damned call that begged to be answered and he had followed blindly. His shoulders slumped in resignation as he collapsed into a disheveled heap of unprompted shivers and shudders.

“Who _am_ I?” He asks the voice, his words teetering on sobs, unwanted tears staining his cheeks.

“The Eye of Agamotto has revealed your identity through pieces of your past. You, _intruder_ , are a threat to the balance of the multiverse. A traitor, a _murderer_ ... a **monster**.” The voice is cold in its response. Not leaving room for argument.

“What? You’re not _serious_ , are you? I’m not a...” At his words, his skin begins to fade into an ashen grey. His self-made covering of webbing dissolves, revealing a tattered skin-tight suit hidden underneath. He glances down at the red spider with a melancholic reverence before his attention is drawn elsewhere. Something tugs at the base of his spine, threatening to rip his skin, causing him to grit his teeth at the sensation. Just as the pain is about to peak, his legs give out and he collapses onto the floor. But it never reveals itself, instead dulling to a low ache as if bound by an unseeable force. It’s unnatural, _alien_ , and **wrong** . No, this isn’t right. It _can’t_ be. He shakes his head vigorously, fists trembling on the hardwood. He struggled to rise up, shuffling along the floor. His legs move on their own, stiff in their movements, and with a newfound anxiousness and fury to his words, he yells out into the void. “No, you’re _wrong_! That’s not true!”

“It _is_ true.” the voice states. Disgust laced venomously in his tone. “Enough of this pointless game… it’s about time you were placed somewhere else, where you can never bring harm to anyone else again!” 

The fog dissipates, revealing the grand wooden staircase once again. Seeing the opportunity, he rushes forward, leaping up the steps with reckless abandon. He needs answers. 

It’s _so_ close. Just up those stairs. The piece that’ll make him whole again.

There’s a shudder, a wave, traveling up his spine, and to the base of his skull. The feeling comes with an _unnerving_ recognition in a sense that he knows it can only mean trouble. Not a second later, the ground shakes beneath him, golden and sparkling chains erupting from the steps. They wrap around his legs, torso, and arms, tightly binding him and immobilizing him. Panic seeps in as the chains begin to drag him down into a dark, opaque, black pool. 

“What are you doing?! Stop! _Get off of me_!” His struggles and cries were fruitless. The chains were cruel, unrelenting, and disinterested in his display. The metal links tightened along his torso, managing to find the gaps between his bones and dig viciously into them. Skin protested against movement as the metal tugged and caught through the suit.

_‘It’s all a lie, I’m not some monster!’_

Inhuman growls rumble from deep inside his chest as he angrily shoves and tugs at his restraints with an unseen ferocity. He curses at the voice, yells meaningless threats before his bravado completely slips away. He needs to find that piece. He _needs_ to be whole. He needs to leave, _run_ , **hide** . He manages to release one of his arms, outstretched towards something, anything to hold on to. His fingernails catch on the wood, scratching, _clawing_ , leaving his mark on the darkly stained flooring. 

It’s all in vain, and his efforts are met with swift punishment as the chains burn at his sides and begin to char the fabric underneath. 

The heat is a vicious burn against his body, before the chains break through the suit and make contact with his exposed flesh. Skin bubbles and breaks, blood not cauterizing faster than it flows. Bile threatens to leave his throat, and he finds himself starting to choke as his vision blurs, tears welling up and the edges beginning to blacken. He can smell his skin _frying_ and feel his blood _simmer_ on his charred flesh. The tears finally drop, limbs lock up, and his mouth finally opens. His vocal cords strain and cry out against the action, but it isn’t until a moment later that his ears catch the guttural scream that tears its way through his throat and escapes unbidden from his lips. 

Then relief.

But it’s short-lived. The black pool laps at his waist and grazes his ribs. He’s _sinking_.

He shifts and twitches, a wild and unhinged look in his eyes. He doesn’t want to be hidden away, locked up and chained like some animal. He can’t finish if he’s kept somewhere else. He needs to get **powerful** , _powerful_ enough to fix his mistakes... _powerful_ enough to end this curse... _powerful_ enough to bring back— 

**_“Miles!”_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Clack, clack,_

_clack…_

_...squish._

Covered in robes blue and gray, the man steps onto the remnants of the puddle. The black ooze sticks to his freshly polished shoes in an offending manner, forcing the man to raise his eyebrow in disgust. A quick incantation is whispered before the mess swirls up, vanishing into thin air, the wooden floor clean once again, and his red cape dabbed away a stray droplet along his cheek. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose, moving his fingers to graze over his moustache. He’d have to inform the director about this new development, this wasn’t really _his_ problem anymore, and Strange had better things to do with his time besides playing prison warden. Business calls were something that always irked him. 

Despite this, it wasn’t all dull and boring. 

One last look at the area where the threat once stood gave him a smug sense of satisfaction. Pest control was beneath him, but it felt good to put his mind to something every now and then. The threat was contained, _for the moment_. 

**“Good riddance.”**

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for the first chapter, the rest will be coming soon and I don't really have a set number of chapters for this fic. I'll try to update much faster now that this is published. Thanks for reading and please comment your thoughts on this so far! <3


End file.
